Our Last Day
by Phoenix1994
Summary: Commander Marks falls in love with a squad member while he and the crew of the SSV Gettysburg embark upon a dangerous mission far into space.


**This is my first attempt at romance and only my second at fan fiction so be nice! :) The romance will progress later, not really so much now. I can really use some constructive criticism and positive feedback because I often get discouraged when working on projects. I'm also fairly new to the wonders of the Mass Effect universe and would like to hear from those of you who are epic masters at it. Enjoy!**

**This is a piece of fan fiction based on the videogame Mass Effect copyright 2003-2007 by BioWare Corporation. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely conicidental. **

***Many thanks to the great team at BioWare for developing not only such an awesome in depth game but for also creating the entire Milky Way galaxy to exlore!**

**D-2**

**January 24, 2182 [Earth Calendar]**

**3:42 [Galactic Standard Time]**

**Drake's Bar, Citadel**

The asari wiped the glowing orange-lit counter down with a white cloth and put her arm down, leaning across the bar.

"When were you planning on getting back to your crew, marine?" she said. "They left an hour ago. Your squad is going to come back and look for you."

The marine seated opposite her in his black Onyx armor didn't look up. He instead continued to stare deeply into his glass, the blue tint growing from the lit bar, lighting his face. The changing colors of the dance floor, the bar, the tables, and even the wall lighting were characteristic of Drake's.

"Another," he said. "Just one more."

The asari leaned closer, this time on both arms crossed like a disapproving mother. "Honey, you reached your limit long ago. And between you and me," she glanced about, in the direction of the dance floor as if someone would be watching. "one more would be another pile of too much. I can't be seen giving a human a break now, can I? Time to pack it up; we close in fifteen."

He groaned into his cup, and then looked slowly up at the bartender. "Aw, come on. You guys got hundred second minutes. That's a bit of time for one more, ain't it?"

With that, the asari straightened up, grabbed his glass, and simply said, "No." With that, the music died out and the dancers began to file out one by one. The marine gathered up his liquid strength and used it to stand, if somewhat wobbly. Making his way over towards the exit, he stopped and stared at the glare from the large plate glass window overlooking the citadel's urban sprawl. Hundreds upon thousands of lights illuminated the city, home of all sorts of intelligent inter-galactic life. Vehicles flew by at extreme speeds far below, a red trail of lights snaking behind its brother of white. It hurt. He was going to feel like hell in the morning.

Stumbling past the turian guarding the exit to Drake's, the marine figured he might as well head back to the Alliance hotel. The common bright white lighting of the halls and staircases did his headache no justice on the way to the elevator. He could barely lift his head when pressing the green call button.

He shouldn't have taken shore leave. He should have stayed right on the ship. He just knew that there would be the temptation of drink. On the ship, that was forbidden, save the unauthorized nips of scotch that the captain gave out once and a while, either to steel people's nerves or celebrate a victory. Sure, he had believed the rigid structure of the military would help his drinking problem, but all it did was let him experience new, alien alcohols in bars all over the galaxy. The drink made him someone he was not, and he hated it. He hated it so much that he kept drinking and drinking until the pain burned away. He could go long without alcohol, very long. It was assumed he had adapted to withdrawal, if that was even possible. But when the booze was there, the glass didn't stay full for long.

When the marine looked up, the elevator had still not arrived. He could barely stand to see his reflection in the blue glass of the shaft door. His feet angered him less, so he looked back down.

Coming from a family of drinkers on Earth, it didn't surprise him that he had stumbled into fits of periodic drunkenness. After all, his father gave him a drink on the night he had died of organ failure. At thirteen, he had prepared himself for that already. Seeing the fights, the curses, and the doctor's bills had only braced the marine for the loss of his father. He kept telling himself that he didn't care, but it was hard to keep that going.

The elevator finally opened, the door whooshing up as he stepped in to the even brighter compartment. The door locked back down into place as he hit _L6_. It was a slow ride down, and when the door finally opened up into the Alliance lobby, he felt glad to be in the softer, yellow lighting. The wood paneled walls and highly polished marble gave the Alliance hotel a judicial feeling, as if it were some Earth courthouse. The gleaming granite desk was still manned by a secretary at this hour. She was staring into the orange glow of her extranet terminal and barely acknowledged the drunk marine with a nod of her head.

He strode unsteadily towards the hall leading to the elevator to get to his room. He was about to call the elevator when he overheard his name being spoken in the alcove to the right.

_Marks_.

It was just a faint whisper of a whisper, another conversation unintelligible framed the word as it slipped from a familiar female voice. A male answered quietly. Curiously and half asleep, Marks stepped out from around the corner into the alcove.

His two squad members, Lieutenants Greg Sal and Kathi Wade sat comfortably facing each other on the plush couch in front of a small window overlooking the blinking city. A yellow lamp illuminated half of their faces and left the rest in shadow. Wade held a glass of wine in her hand. They were both so deep in conversation that they hadn't noticed Marks. Sal laughed quietly, and put his hand on her shoulder. It might have been the drink, but Marks looked at it as a sign of affection. Since Sal was brought on board to replace a deceased squad member four months ago, Marks had noticed what he thought was a growing relationship between Wade and Sal. Even with the fairly new installment of mixed-sex combat operations groups, romantic relationships were forbidden between squad members. That didn't mean they didn't occur.

Marks debated going up to his room. He cleared his throat loudly. "Am I missing anything?" he said.

Wade almost spilled her wine as she struggled to place it down on the nearby table. Sal snapped up to attention immediately, and Wade looked from Marks to Sal and back again, following suit.

"Commander!" they both said, nearly in unison.

Commander Marks grinned. He simply flicked his hand back as if shooing a bug. "At ease, lieutenants."

Sal and Wade sat back down a little too quickly and tried to look calm. They both looked like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar before dinner. Marks tried hard to hold back a smile. "See any ghosts lately?"

"Well, commander, it's just that you... well you..." Sal struggled.

"Look like death?" Marks finished.

"Pretty much, commander." Wade said. "We left you at Drake's. We didn't think you would keep drinking. We should get you to your room, commander. I think it would be best. You're going to need lots of water and lots of rest. We have an emergency orientation at ten-hundred hours."

Marks rubbed his temple. "Great."

Wade rose to help Marks, but he pushed her away gently. "I can get to my own room, thanks."

Marks heard Sal's "Goodnight, commander." as he walked towards the elevator. The snap of the door locking exploded in his head, and by the time he reached the fourth floor, Marks knew he needed sleep. Fumbling with the data card for his room, he eventually managed to fling the door open and shut it quickly behind him before stepping forward to fall on the bed, armor and all.

**-O0O-**

"I'm telling you, he's got to tone it down on shore leave." Wade said as she stood with Sal waiting for the elevator. "He's going to get himself kicked out of the Alliance."

"But he won't tone it down, and he won't get discharged." Sal responded. The elevator door opened and they both stepped in. "His exceptional skills in combat would outweigh anything against him in a civilian situation. Even if it was brought to the damn council, he wouldn't be kicked out, no matter how much some aliens hate us."  
>Wade hit <em>L4<em>. "You know, Sal, he could have been the first human spectre with a combat record like his. He's blown any reputation for integrity with vodka though."

Sal smiled a bit. "Let's face it. There will never be a human spectre. And there never was. The rumors about one are just that. There are more goddamn turian spectres than any other citadel race, and they aren't about to let some soft skin melon headed human join their ranks."

The door opened, and Sal walked with Wade to her room's door.

"What a gentleman." Wade said with a sarcastic tone. "Walking a lady to her room so gracefully. Ready the Bentley, Charles!"

Sal laughed. "What's a Bentley?"

"I don't know. I think it was an automobile. My grandfather used to talk about it. Well, goodnight."

Sal smiled and waved as he walked backwards towards his door. "Goodnight, Kathi."

Wade stuck her head out from her almost shut door. "Call me Wade, Sal."

"Right. Sorry."  
>Sal unlocked his own door with a swipe of his card and entered the impeccably neat room. Even away from the ship, the hotel had a military design. Sal sat on the bed and begun to unlace the boots of his onboardonshore lounge dress. As he lay down and clap out the light, he speaks quietly to himself.

"Four months." He says. "And one percent completion."

**-O0O-**

**D-2**

**January 24, 2182 [Earth Calendar]**

**09:57 [Galactic Standard Time]**

**Alliance Docking Bay, Citadel**

Commander Marks stood by the elevator on the docking bay overlooking the urban network below him. He drank from a blue plastic bottle as if the water would take his pounding headache away. It wasn't the worst hangover he'd ever had. He at least looked presentable. But he cringed when Captain Gable shouted out over from the connecting bridge.

"Commander!" he yelled. "Get over here, double time!"

Marks walked briskly towards the entrance to the retractable bridge that connected the airlock of the SSV Gettysburg to the docking bay. The entire crew was lined up in front of the airlock. Most were rigidly at attention, but a select few were attempting to shrug off the lag of shore leave. It looked like a herd of ants were attempting to invade the husk of the sleek, shined frigate.

The SSV Gettysburg, recently built in 2181, was supposed to be one of the last not designed with the help of turians. This meant that despite her beauty, there were now bigger and better plans for Alliance frigates, putting her behind in the class. The conference room is located in the center of the ship, unlike the new plans for placing it near the back, and the galaxy map and Combat Information Center (or CIC) is placed in the midst of the navigators. The pilot and copilot sit at the front. Down one level lay the medical bay, the mess hall, sleeping pods, and even an extranet terminal. Down one more level there lay a bay containing weapons and armor, and of course, the M35 Mako. The Mako is their all-terrain vehicle capable of packing a punch and moving fast enough to get the hell out of dodge. The drive core also sits on this level, powerful enough to deliver Faster Than Light (or FTL) travel.

There is an advantage to being the last of the breed however. The SSV Gettysburg is testing a new technology known as an Internal Emission Sink (or IES) system. A disadvantage for decades, starships generate so much heat that they cannot be hidden due to their attribute to be easily spotted against the freezing vacuum of space. The IES allows that heat to be stored in lithium cells throughout the hull of the ship, appearing cold as space on the outside. Combined with cloaking, the SSV Gettysburg can in fact become invisible. A new frigate destined to get the full technology, the SSV Normandy, will be able to go silent for days. However, the SSV Gettysburg must vent the heat within fifteen minutes or the heat will begin to penetrate the hull and kill the crew.

Captain Gable ran her fine, and kept her in good condition. Before every re-deployment, he did something that is often only done once with most crews. An emergency awareness check. As Commander Marks, Lieutenants Wade and Sal, and the rest of the crew filed into the Gettysburg after Captain Gable, every one of them was visibly not happy.

For the next two hours, every inch of the ship was gone over and every disaster planned for. Every crew member trained to use an escape pod until they got it right in fifteen seconds. The location of everything, no matter what your job was, had to be learned. Every member of the Gettysburg was able to at least temporarily take on the duty of every single crew member if need be. And the three marines, Marks, Wade, and Sal, were to be protected at all costs. Not that the marines couldn't handle themselves, but the ground power of the Gettysburg was equal to nothing. By twelve-hundred hours, it was over. Each personal data pad was given the official word.

_All crew are to return to the SSV Gettysburg at promptly 17:00 hours. No exceptions._

Marks stepped out of the airlock and strode down to the docking bay. He could see Wade and Sal in lounge dress, heading to the Citadel Security elevator. Marks debated shedding his armor in favor of something more comfortable as well, but he decided he didn't feel the same. Plus, it made him look vulnerable.

The elevator door closed and Marks approached, waiting for them to get to the bottom so he could call it again. They were probably headed to Drake's, and so was he. He had one more chance to either get drunk on shore leave, or enjoy the company of his squad. He decided to try really hard for the last one.

**-O0O-**

**D-2**

**January 24, 2182 [Earth Calendar]**

**16:34 [Galactic Standard Time]**

**Drake's Bar, Citadel**

Commander Marks was having the best time he ever had on shore leave before without staring into a glass. The fact that he, Wade, and Sal had spent a full three hours discussing automobiles because someone brought up a Bentley was ridiculous and at the same time reminded Marks of his days in Secondary. Throughout the afternoon, and into the evening, he had refused any alcohol and was feeding off of their laughter and conversation. He was surprised at how deeply social he had needed to be. He no longer viewed them as squad mates. They were friendly. First names started to slip into conversation, Commander and Lieutenant removed completely. Kathi, Greg, and David. Marks had only ever told his squad that he was 'D. Marks'. The name was foreign to him. Living off of last names was his military cuisine. Ranks. Nicknames. But the first name, it was a new concept. A civilian one. And as the night wore on David began to wish more and more that he was a civilian and could stay and hang out with these people forever.

The digital clock on the wall behind the ever changing bar was hard to stop looking at as seventeen-hundred became ever closer. It was Greg that finally broke the conversation about cats.

"We should go pack. We don't want to be late for departure."

They looked at him, knowing he had killed the mood. But with the truth looming, they knew he was right.

With hesitation they rose from the table and made their way towards the exit. As Greg and Kathi passed through the exit, the turian guard holding a Lancer Assault Rifle stopped David gently.

"Commander Marks?" the turian asked.

"Yes?"

"Listen. I heard about what happened on Imaneya, and I know you're going out on something big again."

David looked crazily about to see if Kathi and Greg were far enough away.

"Marks, I'm sure that wherever you go, you'll do good. Show us what humans can do, huh? Good luck."

David grabbed the turian by the collar as nonviolent as possible and spoke softly but through clenched teeth.

"Listen. There wasn't a day that I sat and rotted in this bar and didn't think about what happened there. I. Am. Not. Proud. What happened there I hope no one ever has to experience. Ever. Do you hear me? Do you understand? I am no hero! Do you get that?"

The turian's mandibles expanded and then retracted.

"Crystal. Sorry, commander."

David walked out of the bar, his light mood dampened.

**-O0O-**

**D-2**

**January 24, 2182 [Earth Calendar]**

**16:58 [Galactic Standard Time]**

**Alliance Docking Bay, Citadel**

When Commander Marks stepped out of the C-Sec elevator and onto the crowded docking bay wheeling his few items in a small bag, he knew it was back to last names. The military was in the air. Deliveries from all over the Citadel had arrived on the bay: weapons, clothing, food, ammo, electronic components.

Engineers ran frantically back and forth with holoboards checking and rechecking. Systems all over the outside of the SSV Gettysburg were being tested. The cloaking was being turned on and off, often giving the engineers sitting atop her the appearance of floating in mid air. Last minute welds were being done on the wings. Crew members were struggling into organized groups. Captain Gable stood alone, away from the commotion, at the pointed end of the docking bay.

Having made his way through the crowd, Marks reached Gable. As if he sensed his presence, Gable turned around.

"Commander, I think I'm getting too old for this." Gable's eyes wandered down to the city far below, and then out to the dark blue void. "I've spent forty years of my life in the Alliance, and this is my last one."

Marks felt a surge of electricity when he met the captain's eyes.

"I'm going home after this mission." he said.

Marks simply nodded.

"Commander, when I go, no matter who is in control of this ship, I want you to take care of her. She's the best I've ever served on. You make damn sure she sees it through longer than I live, you got it?"

"Yes, sir."

Captain Gable nodded.

"I haven't told you all much. But our new assignment..." as his voice trailed off, he stared back into space. "It's a big one. Some of us won't come back. And our old gal will get some dents. Some pretty big bruises, I'm sure. I'll brief you all later, when we're settled. Until then, relax and get used to being on the ship again. Now board. We're late to go."

When everything was set and the SSV Gettysburg had been booted up, everyone took their positions, with the Marines standing by Gable in front of the Galaxy Map. There was a hiss and a clunk as the circular arms locking the Gettysburg into place wrenched free. The pilot began her reverse maneuver, quietly gliding backwards and upwards, clearing the docking bay and beginning to turn. The ship grew louder, it was charging up, ready to go. As the ship caught the blue light of the Citadel it gleamed as if it had a halo, so quick and sleek looking in the light. Becoming a loud escalating pitch of energetic hum, the Gettysburg completed her 180 turn and quickly hovered for a moment before shooting off in between the arms of the Citadel. Reaching borderline one-thousand miles per hour, the Marines and crew inside the Gettysburg didn't feel a difference as she shot upward into the dark abyss of space.


End file.
